Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchett Page A

all.”
    And Granny Weatherwax said, “That’s fairy godmothering, is it?”
    Magrat opened her eyes.
    There was still a heap, but it wasn’t rock anymore.
    “There’s a, wait for it, there’s a bit of a squash in here,” said Nanny.
    Magrat opened her eyes wider.
    “ Still pumpkins?”
    “Bit of a squash. Squash ,” said Nanny, in case anyone hadn’t got it.
    The top of the heap moved. A couple of small pumpkins rolled down almost to Magrat’s feet, and a small dwarfish face appeared in the hole.
    It stared down at the witches.
    Eventually Nanny Ogg said, “Everything all right?”
    The dwarf nodded. Its attention kept turning to the pile of pumpkins that filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling.
    “Er, yes,” it said. “Is dad there?”
    “Dad?”
    “The King.”
    “Oh.” Nanny Ogg cupped her hands around her mouth and turned to face up the tunnel. “Hey, King!”
    The dwarfs appeared. They looked at the pumpkins, too. The King stepped forward and stared up into the face of his son.
    “Everything all right, son?”
    “It’s all right, dad. No faulting or anything.”
    The King sagged with relief. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Everyone all right?”
    “Fine, dad.”
    “I was quite worried for a time there. Thought we might have hit a section of conglomerate or something.”
    “Just a patch of loose shale, dad.”
    “Good.” The King looked at the heap again. He scratched his beard. “Can’t help noticing you seem to have struck pumpkin.”
    “I thought it was an odd kind of sandstone, dad.”
    The King walked back to the witches.
    “Can you turn anything into anything?” he said hopefully.
    Nanny Ogg looked sideways at Magrat, who was still staring at the wand in a sort of shock.
    “I think we only do pumpkins at the moment,” she said cautiously.
    The King looked a little disappointed.
    “Well, then,” he said, “if there’s anything I can do for you ladies…a cup of tea or something…”
    Granny Weatherwax stepped forward. “I was just thinking something like that myself,” she said.
    The King beamed.
    “Only more expensive,” said Granny.
    The King stopped beaming.
    Nanny Ogg sidled up to Magrat, who was shaking the wand and staring at it.
    “Very clever,” she whispered. “Why’d you think of pumpkins?”
    “I didn’t!”
    “Don’t you know how to work it?”
    “No! I thought you just had to, you know, want something to happen!”
    “There’s probably more to it than just wishing,” said Nanny, as sympathetically as possible. “There generally is.”

    Some time around dawn, in so far as dawn happened in the mines, the witches were led to a river somewhere deep in the mountains, where a couple of barges were moored. A small boat was pulled up to a stone jetty.
    “This’ll take you right through the mountains,” said the King. “I think it goes all the way to Genua, to tell the truth.” He took a large basket off an attendant dwarf. “And we’ve packed you some lovely food,” he said.
    “Are we going to go all the way in a boat?” said Magrat. She gave the wand a few surreptitious flourishes. “I’m not good at boats.”
    “Listen,” said Granny, climbing aboard, “the river knows its way out of the mountains, which is more than we do. We can use the brooms later on, where the landscape’s acting a bit more sensible.”
    “And we can have a bit of a rest,” said Nanny, sitting back.
    Magrat looked at the two older witches, who were making themselves comfortable in the stern like a couple of hens settling down on a nest.
    “Do you know how to row a boat?” she said.
    “We don’t have to,” said Granny.
    Magrat nodded gloomily. Then a tiny bit of self-assertion flashed a fin.
    “I don’t think I do, too,” she ventured.
    “That’s all right,” said Nanny. “If we sees you doing anything wrong, we’ll be sure to tell you. Cheerio, your kingship.”
    Magrat sighed, and picked up the oars.
    “The flat bits go in the water,” said